


Be Pleased

by inkcharm, MissjuliaMiriam



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Flirting, Friends Who Judge People Together, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mentions of Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan, Pining, spoilers up to episode 73
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8917270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcharm/pseuds/inkcharm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissjuliaMiriam/pseuds/MissjuliaMiriam
Summary: It would take a fool not to notice that on top of the weight of the world, or Whitestone at the very least, Gilmore carries the weight of a broken heart, courtesy of one Vax’ildan of Vox Machina. 


  Ah, is life not wonderfully messy sometimes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The working title of this fic was "GILMORE DESERVES BETTER" and then had "aka 'beep beep'" added when we decided that Be Pleased was going to be the official title. It began its life as a 5+1 fic where Gilmore was cute but oblivious and then became abruptly aware of how appreciated he actually was, mostly by Jarett, but it didn't really end up that way.
> 
> This is mine and inkcharm's love letter to Jarett/Gilmore, which we have come to adore. We will almost certainly write more about these wonderful boys in the future. Enjoy!

 

1.

Prior to arrival in Whitestone, Jarett had never actually  _ met _ Gilmore. He’d heard the name, of course - Vox Machina was fond of him, and spoke of him frequently enough that Jarett had gleaned some sense of who the man was. But Gilmore had lived and worked in Abadar’s Promenade, and Jarett had only rarely left Greyskull Keep. Now, however, they are both working at Whitestone Castle, and though Gilmore has claimed a small two-level home down in the city proper, he spends most of his time at the Castle, even to the point of sleeping there, especially in the first few days when his wounds are still particularly fresh. Jarett finds himself increasingly aware of the man over the first days in Whitestone, not least because of Vox Machina’s request to keep an eye on him - Gilmore is also a magnetic presence, and around enough that Jarett frequently catches sight of him as he walks the halls or passes between Castle and city.

Jarett doesn’t approach Gilmore until several days after Vox Machina has headed off to Westruun. They’ve been back and forth some in the past few days, but it seems like they’re once more off on a quest that will take them at least a week, and Jarett doesn’t really want them showing up in the middle of what’s sure to be an awkward conversation. He doesn’t know Gilmore at all, and the man is a wizard of incredible power - they’re always eccentric, and Gilmore does follow the mold if what Jarett has observed is at all accurate. Jarett has no idea how he’ll respond to what Jarett has to say. As it is, he’s planning his approach carefully, because he’s a little worried about saying something offensive, and while he’s survived run-ins with casters in the past, Magic Missile still really sucks.

Jarett chooses to catch Gilmore at the beginning of the day, before he’s exhausted himself with whatever it is that he does up in the castle at all hours. If he’s going to be snappish and secretive, he’ll be more likely to be that way in the evening than in the morning. So Jarett makes a point to be up on the wall, waits until he sees Gilmore’s brightly coloured robes passing by below, and jogs down the stairs to catch up with him.

“Hail!” he calls, and Gilmore pauses and turns, looking slightly surprised. “Master Gilmore, do you have a moment?”

Gilmore raises an eyebrow. “Certainly. What can I do for you, Mr…?”

“My name is Jarett,” he says, and bows slightly. “I’m employed by Vox Machina, which is what I wished to speak with you about.”

Gilmore relaxes slightly when Jarett mentions Vox Machina, and nods his head in return. “If you are a friend of Vox Machina, you are a friend of mine. Please, walk with me.”

Jarett follows one step behind and to the right of Gilmore as he continues on his way up toward the castle, and says, “I wanted to inform you of something that they asked of me before setting out. They clearly care for you, and wished for me to keep an eye on you while they’re gone. I didn’t want to do so without your knowledge,” he pauses, and then steels himself and continues, “though to be honest, I would likely continue to guard you even without your consent. I answer to them, and though I will keep my distance if you ask, I have a duty.”

Gilmore stops again and turns to look at Jarett with a curious look on his face. “I’ve no issue with a little extra protection; you needn’t worry.”

Jarett relaxes. “Thank you, Master Gilmore. I cannot shadow you, and would not in any case - I’m not a bodyguard, really - but I hope you won’t mind if I check in with you once in awhile.”

“Not at all,” Gilmore says. “And, please - just Gilmore. I am no one’s master.”

Jarett considers him, then says, “But you are  _ a _ master, Master Gilmore. I’ll let you get on with your day.” Then he bows and walks away, leaving Gilmore chuckling behind him.

 

2.

It’s a long day, in the late hours of which a shimmer appears in the sky over Whitestone; defensive measures should the Chroma Conclave ever divert any attention to where the Emon refugees have hidden away. Jarett notices the boost in confidence it gives the men and women training under his watchful eye instantly. Fascinating thing, magic. He certainly has never seen anything like it, and he’s seen many wonders in Ank’Harel. 

Gilmore certainly seems to be working on many a project, and Jarett finds himself staying ever more alert for a flash of brightly colored robes flowing around dark skin and a laugh like dark, thick honey. 

It doesn’t come, not for the longest time. The training grounds empty, darkness falls over Whitestone. The night sky highlights the shimmer in the sky, a protection that looks so much weaker than it must really be. Jarett is sure Gilmore hasn’t passed. Not to be cocky - except maybe a little - but he’s good at what he does. He prides himself in his work and his sharp eyes, and knows with languid confidence that had the wizard passed, he would have seen him. However, if the wizard has not gone by, that means he’s still in the castle, and night has well and truly fallen. Jarett hasn’t seen Gilmore sleep in the castle in some time, and remembers from an offhand comment that he does prefer to go home, rather than taking a guest room. It itches at him, and finally, as the guard is changing to the overnight watch, Jarett heads up to the castle to find out what’s become of Gilmore.

Gilmore, it turns out, meets him halfway. He looks startled, as if he’d been distracted or preoccupied, and then flashes a broad smile. “Why, fancy meeting you here.” 

Jarett knows by now not to even pause at the greeting. It is how Shaun Gilmore presents himself, and on any other day it may have given Jarett a brief rush of warmth. It is never unpleasant, after all, to be playfully flirted with by a handsome man. But the rush is kept at bay by Jarett’s very sharp eyes catching the pallor to Gilmore’s skin, and the droop of his shoulders. The wizard is tired. More than tired: utterly exhausted, by the looks of it, and Jarett wishes he could be surprised. But with whatever is hidden under the castle, and whatever shield has been woven into the air above the city, there is hardly a lack of things for Gilmore to expend energy on. 

“Looking for you, truthfully, Master Gilmore,” Jarett drawls, letting his accent roll as it pleases, knowing it always causes something soft to appear in his countryman’s eyes. 

“I’m flattered,” Gilmore says, smiling faintly. 

Jarett wishes he really were. The realization is almost unsettling. Shaun Gilmore is a very powerful and influential man, whereas Jarett is merely the guardsman told to watch out for him. He may not be employed by Gilmore, but it comes close enough to muddle his standing. Besides, it would take a fool not to notice that on top of the weight of the world, or Whitestone at the very least, Gilmore carries the weight of a broken heart, courtesy of one Vax’ildan of Vox Machina. 

Ah, is life not wonderfully messy sometimes. 

Ever the professional, Jarett does not respond in kind. “I have been itching for a stroll now that the night sky feels safer. I thought were you, by any chance, headed home, we could keep one another company.”

“... I would like that,” Gilmore says.

Jarett smiles, and then offers his arm with a wink. Gilmore is standing stiffly, exhausted but clearly trying to hold it together - his public face is important to him. But Jarett can’t watch the man stumble without at least trying to offer him some support. It takes a moment, but then Gilmore reaches out and wraps his hand over Jarett’s elbow, coming to stand close to him as they begin the walk down from the castle into town. When Jarett glances down at him from the corner of his eye, Gilmore isn’t looking at him, but from his profile he looks quietly grateful, and as they walk, he leans against Jarett slightly.

 

Jarett jerks awake to the sound of bells ringing in the castle and in the town, crying alarm. He’s out of bed and fully alert less than a minute after waking, and slips into the top half of his leather armour, grabs his crossbow, and races for the door of the barracks. When he steps outside, he sees that there are already men running for the castle, but there’s movement in the town, too, and fewer guards headed that direction, so he runs for the gates. A fellow guard catches up with him not too far down the path and breathlessly informs him that there are assassins in the castle, and Vox Machina is fighting some sort of monster in the courtyard.

“Of course they are,” Jarett says, and keeps running.

The town has descended very rapidly into pandemonium. People are stumbling out of their houses, looking around for hints of flame and disaster. Frantic energy is swelling, and Jarett finds himself delayed by ushering people back into their homes, trying to prevent a panic. If people lose their minds, it’ll only be worse. He knows where he’s going, has a very distinct goal, but by the time Jarett reaches Gilmore’s home, things have already settled somewhat. His knock on the door goes unanswered, and a peek through the window only reveals darkness.

“Shit,” Jarett mutters, and then, irritated, kicks the door just hard enough to break the lock. It swings open, and Jarett steps in carefully, his crossbow up. “Master Gilmore?”

The rooms smells like blood, so strongly that Jarett almost gags as it hits him. A glance around in the shadowy room reveals a body lying on the ground, crumpled like a broken doll. A male figure, and Jarett chokes on his own breath for a moment, his crossbow dipping as he goes to kneel beside the body. A gentle nudge turns it enough to reveal that the person is dressed in dark leathers and cloth, and at closer inspection, the figure is too slim, too lithe to be Gilmore. Jarett wipes a hand down his face, breathing out a slow breath of relief. “Alright,” he says to himself. “Alright.”

Jarett drags himself up out of the puddle of gore -- he hadn’t even realized he was kneeling in a literal pool of blood in his own moment of panic. He scowls down at the state of his sleeping pants momentarily, and then hefts his crossbow again and creeps up the stairs. The house is silent, still as death, and Jarett’s breathing seems thunderously loud. “Master Gilmore?” he calls again. 

No answer. At the top of the stairs is a dark hallway with several open doorways lining it, and Jarett pauses to peer into each one before moving on. Away from the smell of blood from the body downstairs, Jarett can catch just the faintest hint of a familiar perfume, like the scent of a spice he’d smelled in the market in Ank’harel once. It’s almost jarringly out of place, knowing as he does that he might be creeping up on the body of the man who carries that scent with him wherever he goes. 

The first doorway is a study, the window open. Night wind blows in, scattering papers off of a large desk, and Jarett resolves to return and put this room back to rights once he’s found what there is to find here. The second doorway is a small bedroom, mostly untouched; clearly a guestroom of some kind. That or belonging to someone with an immaculate sense of tidyness, he thinks, though clearly no one was in residence tonight. The third doorway is a closet, storing rolls of parchment and flasks on shelves, mostly empty, some containing what look like alchemical ingredients of some kind. The scent of spices is stronger there, and Jarett can’t force himself to move on immediately, pausing for a moment to breath it in. There’s only one doorway left, and only the gods and the dead know what he will find.

Jarett pauses at the doorframe of the last room, looking around carefully inside. After a moment, his eyes light on the bed, and the window beside it. The covers are rumpled, as if someone had leapt hastily out of them, and as Jarett steps into the room he can see another body slumped against the wall below the window on the opposite side of the bed from where he stands. Another assassin, he realizes, and from the scorched leathers he was probably dispatched via magic of some sort, as the first one was. Gilmore is nowhere to be seen.

Jarett sighs, finally allowing his crossbow to fall to his side, and he sets it down just inside the door where it won’t be in his way. Then he goes and crouches beside the body, and with a deft movement hefts the ragdoll weight up onto one shoulder. He grunts a little from the effort as he stands, but the assassin, whoever they were, was not particularly large, and he’s able to haul the body downstairs and out the door without too much strain. He dumps it in the street outside Gilmore’s house, and, as he turns back to go back inside and fetch the second - sure to be a messier proposition - he catches sight of someone hurrying toward him. He straightens, but it quickly becomes clear that this is not Gilmore. It’s a female figure, and as she gets closer, he’s able to discern that she’s tall and willowy, her dark red hair up in a somewhat sloppy bun, her clothes mussed from her haste.

“Shaun!” she cries, as she gets closer, and Jarett recognizes the voice of Sherri, who he’s seen in Gilmore’s company a few times, but has never spoken to. He hadn’t realized it was her, lacking as she was her usual poise and put-together appearance.

“I apologize,” he calls back. “I’m not Master Gilmore.”

“Oh,” she says, slowing. “Captain Jarett. My apologies.” She looks flustered, blushing slightly. “I only--”

He sees the moment she registers the door, broken open somewhat unceremoniously, in the way her face goes white. “That was me,” he says, gesturing at the door. “Master Gilmore isn’t inside, and you may not wish to be either. This fellow,” he gestures at the dead assassin, and sees Sherri startle slightly, “had a friend, who was rendered into… a bit of a mess, apparently by your employer.”

“Well then,” Sherri says. Then she rolls up her sleeves and makes for the door. Jarett tries to catch her as she passes, but she twists nimbly out of his way and says, “The mess won’t clean itself!”

“Huh,” says Jarett. “Right then.” And he follows her inside to clear out the second body, and assist with cleaning up the blood. Between the two of them, it doesn’t take long, and soon Sherri is washing the blood off of her hands in the kitchen while Jarett keeps an eye on the door. 

“I’m sure you can go,” Sherri says. “The madness seems to have ended, and I’m fine to wait for Gilmore.”

“I’ve had longer nights,” Jarett says, and, eyeing the dark circles under her eyes, says, “You’re welcome to go to bed, Miss Sherri. I’ll sit down here and make sure Master Gilmore gets back alright.”

“Just Sherri, please,” she says. “Once you’ve cleaned up dead bodies together, I think you ought to be on first name terms.” She looks conflicted for a moment, then yawns widely. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Go, sleep,” Jarett urges. “I’ll keep watch.”

She sighs, looks between Jarett and the door, and says, “You’ll wake me if anything has happened to him?”  
“Of course.”

Another moment of hesitation, and then she nods and heads for the stairs, patting his shoulder gently as she passes. “Thank you, Jarett.”

Jarett simply nods and goes to lean against the wall across from the door, settling in to watch. The remainder of the small hours of the morning pass quietly, the sound of running feet out in the streets slowly settling, the bells dying away until finally there is nothing but soft predawn silence. Gilmore doesn’t return until false dawn has begun to light the sky, just barely visible from the front windows of the house, and he stumbles in through his broken front door looking rumpled, spattered in blood, and generally seeming none the worse for wear.

“Captain!” he says, startled, when he spots Jarett leaning against the wall. There’s a slight flush high in his cheeks, and when Jarett steps forward to steady his swaying form, he can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“A little affirmation of life, hm?” Jarett says, amused. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely, Master Gilmore.”

“So am I,” Gilmore says. “Apparently there was a demon impersonating me; Vox Machina was quite worried. So, as they do, they got me drunk.”

“Sounds like them,” Jarett says, steering Gilmore toward the stairs.

“Yes, well,” Gilmore says. He looks around. “Wasn’t there a body here earlier?”

“Sherri and I took care of it.”

“Sherri! You’ve met Sherri, that’s  _ wonderful _ .”

“It is,” Jarett agrees, amused. “I take it you did not run into any further trouble after the initial assassination attempt?”

“Well,” Gilmore says, and thinks about it for a moment. “Vax’ildan is really rather insensitive. But other than that.”

“Vax’ildan?”  
“He lifted me up with his wings of… of glory! Or something. Right after reminding me that he broke my heart. It was wonderful, truly.”

Jarett pauses and looks down at Gilmore. There’s a faintly desolate look on his face, and even as Jarett watches, he gives a little sigh and leans a bit more heavily into Jarett’s side. “Hm,” Jarett says, and resolves to ask Sherri about it at a more sane hour. “Well, better than assassins, I suppose.”

“He is the assassin of my  _ feelings _ ,” Gilmore mutters, as Jarett pours him into bed. “Unfortunately, he cannot be defeated with Magic Missiles.”

“No, probably not,” Jarett agrees. He smooths the hair away from Gilmore’s face, and waits another few moments until the wizard has fallen well asleep. Then he mutters, “Crossbow bolts, on the other hand,” and makes his way out of Gilmore’s home, wedging the door closed behind himself.

  
  


If Gilmore remembers his inebriated conversation with Jarett, he makes no mention of it. Although the next time they meet, he is as jovial and warm in his greetings and conversation as ever, and does make it a point to thank Jarett for aiding Sherri in ridding the place of any assassin leftovers. 

Sherri is as good a source of information as Jarett could have hoped, and surprises him by sharing the details of Gilmore’s ill-fated infatuation with one Vax’ildan of Vox Machina readily. It fills in blanks; Jarett hasn’t been unaware of the situation just from living in Greyskull Keep. It’s difficult to not be aware of the group’s enthusiasm for what was formerly known as Gilmore’s Glorious Goods, and Jarett prides himself in knowing what goes on in the place he guards. So yes, he knew of flirtations and the resulting teasings from the rest of Vox Machina. 

The story is quite different in its full picture, and Sherri shoves stacks of books together with a huffy force Jarett worries may be aimed at his employer. More worrying still, he has to make a conscious effort not to share in Sherri’s huffings out loud. She’s protective of Shaun Gilmore, and by virtue of the task given to him by Vox Machina itself, so is Jarett. 

The interest could admittedly be a little more on the strict side of professional. Jarett is quite sure that the tightening in his chest whenever he catches a whiff of something warm and spicy in the air has little to do with home sickness, and everything with the perfume he knows to strongly associate with Shaun Gilmore. 

Vox Machina leaves for the Feywild, and Jarett is glad, because it means they’re making progress in trying to save the world, and because thanks to Sherri’s impeccable impersonation, he can practically hear Vax’ildan say ‘magnificent bastard’. It’s not his place to question ill-timed kisses and flirtations, or compare them to picking off the scab of someone else’s wound, but it’s good to have the temptation to make unprofessional remarks to his employer removed for now all the same. 

It’s also good to see Gilmore take more deep breaths rather than heave heavy sighs. Jarett seeks him out more often. It makes sense; Sherri is overwhelmed in her work to aid Gilmore and take care of him - the man is not incapable of that himself, and certainly isn’t frail, but he invests himself in the task of protecting Whitestone. With the other wizards from the council gone, Gilmore is left to uphold the barrier on his own. Jarett has sworn to lead a more honest life, and it would be a great dishonesty to claim the strain of the task couldn’t be seen in the wizard’s drawn face. There’s often a pallor to his face, circles under his eyes, a slump to his shoulders, a slimming of his cheeks. Even if her weren’t prone to forget to take better care of himself, Sherri muses and Jarett agrees with, the energy he expends on maintaining the barrier would be hard to compensate for. 

Gilmore is still impeccable, of course. Dark curls drawn back into a low ponytail; goatee braided and maintained with care; gold glinting at his ears, his bared chest, his fingers. It’s a shield of its own kind.

The walks between Gilmore’s house and the castle become a thing of regularity. And Gilmore must pick up on it all, mustn’t he? Jarett certainly doesn’t feel subtle about walking the man back to his front door more nights than not, always offering his arm to spare Gilmore the indignity of swaying on his feet where just anyone could see. He doesn’t feel subtle when he’s able to tell what kind of day Gilmore’s having based on minute changes in his attire. It’s quite shameful, really, and Vex’ahlia would tease him mercilessly were she around to catch the way he keeps glancing at Gilmore, hoping to see each jovial laugh actually reach the man’s eyes. 

There’s nothing subtle, Jarett thinks, about how he can barely refrain from looking at Gilmore’s mouth, and even then, the fact that he wants to kiss a smile onto his lips must be written all over his face. He cannot, though. It’s a matter of station and of respect; Gilmore is too good a man by far, and deserves to have his wounded heart treated with care and respect in the wake of too many kisses stolen by a man who should know he has relinquished any right to those he may have ever held. 

“He has too much tolerance for that boy’s antics,” Sherri sniffs over drinks, and Jarett can’t agree, because Vax’ildan is his employer, but he can’t exactly disagree either. In similar fashion, Sherri doesn’t exactly encourage the feelings Jarett harbours, but she is a woman whose lack of disapproval voiced speaks louder than any words of recommendation. 

Perhaps once all of this is over, once Gilmore’s heart has had time to heal, once the horizon is not quite so terrifying anymore, Jarett could reveal his feelings. Until then, he’ll take a quiet sort of pleasure in Gilmore’s warmth on his arm, and the warm, spicy scent of his perfume carried into Jarett’s own chambers as it clings to his garments.

Vox Machina returns from the Feywild and are off again almost immediately. They return from their brief trip to Draconia with weighted footsteps and grief-stricken expressions, though they speak to no one of the reason, and then are gone again, off to Marquet. Jarett can’t resist requesting a sample of fusaka from Ank’harel; he hasn’t had anything that truly tastes like home in years, and he cannot return to the city of his birth, possibly ever.

The day after Vox Machina leaves, Jarett mentions his request to Gilmore on their now near-daily walk back to the city from the castle, and Gilmore laughs. “Goodness,” he says. “It seems that the both of us had errands for them to run.”

“Oh?”

Gilmore smiles softly, looking onward down the road. “I sent them through to Shandal, where I grew up, with a trinket to pass on to my parents.”

Jarett raises an eyebrow. “I had imagined you a child of Ank’harel, like myself.”

“Oh, no,” Gilmore says. “I trained out my accent so of course you cannot tell, but I used to talk like the small town boy I was. I did not see Ank’harel until I was seventeen, and after that… well.”

“You never went back?”

“Oh, I did, on occasion.” Gilmore tightens his grip slightly where he has his arm wrapped through Jarett’s. “I love my parents, and I do what I can to stay in touch with them. I know I am blessed to have them still living. But… I dreamed bigger than that place.”

“And the people in Ank’harel would have looked down on you for coming from nowhere,” Jarett said, nodding. “I’m familiar with the attitude, trust me; I may be from Ank’harel proper, but I grew up on the streets.”

Gilmore glances up at him, surprised. “Did you? I would not have guessed.”

“I worked to make something of myself just as you did,” Jarett said. “Though it took me longer.”

“You dreamed of being a warrior as a child?”

“I dreamed of having a full belly,” Jarett says, chuckling. “I had no aspirations grander than that. Not like you, Glorious Gilmore.”

Gilmore smiles, then the expression drops slightly, and he shakes his head. “Still, you have built yourself something that lasts. My dreams are…”

“Not gone,” Jarett says gently. “Just on hold, until Vox Machina can end this scourge. Until then, you will still be glorious, only... more quietly.”

Gilmore stops and turns so that he’s facing Jarett, and he reaches up to cup his cheeks with both hands. “Thank you,” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice. “You do not know what that means to me, Captain.”

Jarett just smiles and resists the urge to turn and kiss the palm of one of Gilmore’s hands. “I can imagine,” he says, savouring the pride that being called ‘Captain’ lights within himself.

Gilmore looks at him for another moment, then nods and draws his hands away. He links his arm back with Jarett’s, and says, “Onward, then?”

“No better direction,” Jarett agrees, and presses forward once more.

 

5.

Jarett hesitates in front of the door of Gilmore’s home. He hasn’t knocked yet, and feels a bit stupid even for coming this far - it’s evening, almost dinner hour, and he’s sure… No, he’s bullshitting himself. He’s not sure of anything; that is why he’s here. So he knocks, and he waits as Gilmore’s voice calls from within, and a moment later, the man himself opens the door.

“Captain!” Gilmore says, sounding earnestly delighted to see him. “What brings you to my door on this fine evening?”

Jarett stares at him for a moment, taking in familiar, increasingly beloved features, then realizes that he’s staring. “I needed to get out of the barracks,” he says, and then adds in a rush, “I’ll make you dinner, please let me stay here tonight.”

Gilmore blinks, surprised. “Of course, my friend. You are welcome here; you needn’t cook for the right to a place in my home.”

Jarett shakes his head, and he follows Gilmore inside, toeing off his boots once the door is closed behind him. “I… would prefer to do something for you in exchange,” he says. “But I appreciate it.”

Gilmore gives him a measuring look, but he nods and gestures for Jarett to precede him into the kitchen. “Sherri is out for the evening,” Gilmore says. “I suspect she has a paramour in town; I applaud her for grasping what happiness there is to be found in these times.”

“We could all die tomorrow,” Jarett murmurs. 

“Indeed,” Gilmore says carefully. “What brings you here tonight, my friend?”

Jarett just sighs and begins rummaging through Gilmore’s cupboards. He has the ingredients for Marquesian cooking, fortunately; comfort food is what Jarett wants most tonight. He works slowly at first, familiarizing himself with Gilmore’s kitchen, but soon enough has enough of a rhythm going that he feels he can articulate an answer to Gilmore’s question. “I apologize,” he says, first. There has been a long stretch of silence as Gilmore sat at his kitchen table and watched Jarett putter about with minced meat and spices. “I… prefer to busy my hands when I am troubled, rather than my tongue.”

“There’s no problem with that,” Gilmore says. “Only tell me as much as you are comfortable with.”

“... You know what happened to Vox Machina? To Percival?”

“Yes,” Gilmore says, and sighs. “I had wondered if that was what was troubling you.”

“That, and…” Jarett rubs his face. “Vax’ildan gave me charge of a boy they found, Kynan. He’s a troubled young man -- gods,  _ troubled _ is putting it lightly -- and I’m not sure what they expect me to do with him. I’m not… I don’t know how to mentor someone. I’ve been charged with protecting Lord Percival’s home, with protecting their friends and their lost boys, and I… I just don’t know. I don’t deserve their regard; I have no idea what to do with it.”

“A lot has happened in only a few days,” Gilmore says, and reaches across the table to pull one of Jarett’s hands away from his face. “What can I do to help you?”

“Only what you’ve already done,” Jarett says, and squeezes Gilmore’s hand in his own. Then he lets go, knowing that if he doesn’t do so now, it will be a long time before he’s willing to relinquish the comfort. “I thank you for the safe haven, Master Gilmore.”

“Any time,” Gilmore says, voice soft. Jarett takes comfort in his tone, in the lowering of all show and pretense. Well, not all - he still has a lot of cover to maintain for himself. “I mean it, Jarett. Any time.” 

Silence stretches for another few moments; contemplative more so than pained. Gilmore’s hand is still sitting on the table between them, and Jarett wishes he could misread it as an offering. Gilmore’s eyes, though, seem far away, and he can’t help but wonder if maybe it’d been a mistake to mention Vax’ildan, knowing what he does. He also knows Gilmore, though, has been paying too much attention for his own good, and knows the man would not wish to be coddled. Jarett, therefore, cannot bring himself to do him such a disservice. 

Instead he stands, checks on the food. Seasons it. Tastes it. Turns around to tell Gilmore that it’s ready. It speaks to his distraction and his heavy heart that he didn’t notice Gilmore rise from his seat and step up behind him. The arm around his waist, therefore, is quite unexpected, as is the hand cradling the back of his head, and just like that he finds himself with his nose right against warm, enticing skin, head cradled in the nook of Gilmore’s neck, in the gentlest and strongest embrace he can recall experiencing. Breath tickles his short, dark hair, and as Gilmore’s lips move next to his ear, he can feel the rumble of every word in the man’s chest. 

“You are a good man, Guard Captain Jarett Howarth. Kind, intelligent, handsome. You know to speak with authority that still carries compassion, for which you are respected. You offer so much of yourself: your time and effort, your undivided attention and quick wit, for which you are well liked. You’ve offered your arm so that I would not stumble and lose face. You will offer that boy your arm so he will not stumble and lose himself. You will not do a perfect job; perfection is so rare as to be nearly impossible. But you will still be more than good enough, dear.

“Their regard -- and mine -- is honest, and it cannot be a bad thing for you to accept it. Take pride and pleasure in what you can achieve day to day. You are good, worthy, and if you cannot appreciate yourself enough, I would have you come here, fill this house with the scent of good food, and let me appreciate you enough for two.”

Jarett releases a shuddering sigh and relaxes into Gilmore’s embrace, allowing himself to wrap his arms around the other man’s back. Gilmore only holds him tighter as Jarett buries his face in Gilmore’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Jarett says, muffled. “You do not know the honour you do me.”

“Believe me when I say that speaking the truth to you is an honour in itself,” Gilmore says. “I only wish to return the support that you have offered me so unconditionally in these few weeks; that it means anything to you is a gift to me.”

Jarett cannot reply to that, because if he opens his mouth, all the feelings he has kept bound up in his heart will come spilling from his lips, and he refuses to ruin the moment. Even were Gilmore not still hung up on Vax’ildan, it’s clear his tastes run greater than a simple guard who can still feel the dust of the streets of Ank’harel between his toes. So he swallows down the appreciation, the care, the growing love, and pulls away. Gilmore releases him when he does, catches his shoulders, and looks him in the eye.

“You will do just fine,” Gilmore says sternly. “Do not doubt yourself, my friend.”

Jarett smiles, faint and lopsided, but filled with all the warmth that exists between them. “Thank you. Now come, let’s eat before the food grows cold.”

 

6.

Sherri wakes to the sound of someone knocking on the door, rather insistently. She’s just about to rouse herself out of bed and answer it when Gilmore calls out, and she hears him shuffling down the hall, and deciding that he has it handled, she rolls over. Then, though, his tone of voice from downstairs changes from early morning irritation to surprise, mixed with that unique blend of pleasure and mild dismay that means that it is Vax’ildan that has come knocking. So Sherri gets up and slings on a robe, and creeps silently down the stairs, knowing as sure as anything that the two men will be too wrapped up in each other to notice her eavesdropping.

Sure enough, by the time she has reached the bottom of the stairs and is standing just out of sight of the sitting room, Vax’ildan and Shaun are sitting across from one another, and Vax’ildan is talking in a low, rough voice, sounding almost on the edge of tears. Sherri listens for a moment, hears him apologize and offer the fact that he has not been fair, and she can only think that he doesn’t deserve to sound so upset. He might love Shaun, as he claims, but he  _ chose  _ to break his heart, to break the spun sugar bond between them. 

Sherri listens carefully to the end of the short conversation, mildly disgusted that Vax’ildan would come here to demand - no, worse, to manipulate out of Shaun - a comfort that he does not deserve. Not from Shaun. But at least Shaun’s responses are such that he has recognized to himself that Vax’ildan has lead him on, and he’s no longer allowing it, no matter how it hurts his heart.

“I love you,” Vax’ildan says, near the end. Quiet, sincere. Sherri doesn’t doubt him.

“I know,” Shaun replies, and Sherri lets out a quiet breath of relief. Heartbroken, perhaps, but not pining any more for a man that was never going to let Shaun have him.

After, once Shaun has chased Vax’ildan from the house, Sherri steps into the living room and goes to his side. He’s sitting slumped in one of the armchairs, cooling tea on the low table in front of him, and he’s staring at it blankly.

“Well,” he says, so quiet as to almost be a whisper. “I suppose that’s it.”

Sherri places her hand briefly on his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, Shaun.”

He just shakes his head, and reaches out to touch the teacup that he had filled for Vax, still almost full. 

_ Ah _ , Sherri thinks, and steps away, tying her robe tighter and fetching a coin from the bowl of spare change in the kitchen. She goes outside, just a step onto the street, and waves down a girl passing by. “Will you take a message for me?” she asks, and when she flashes the coin the girl nods eagerly. “Go up to the castle and find Captain Jarett, and tell him Gilmore needs him.”

“Alright,” the girl chirps, plucks the coin from Sherri’s fingers, and bolts toward the castle.

Sherri goes back inside to wait. Shaun is still sitting in the living room looking miserable, so she sighs and puts water on to boil the mundane way, and then goes upstairs to get dressed. By the time she comes back down in dress and overrobe, the water is hot, and she’s pouring tea when the second knock of the morning comes at the door.

Shaun has not yet moved, and Sherri finds herself taking a small moment to look at him before heading to the door. He plays over his exhaustion well, but she knows him, has known him longer than any of his current friends and allies. She sees the unusually grey undertones in his dark skin, the slight droop of one eyelid, all those sharp, small reminders that he’s exhausted to the point of collapse more often than not these days. At least he’s not alone in maintaining the barrier anymore. Small blessings, perhaps.

Jarett, prompt and upright, is at the door when Sherri opens it, and she gestures him inside quietly.

“What’s going on?” he asks, already looking around for Shaun.

“Vax’ildan dropped by this morning,” Sherri says.

Jarett purses his lips. “I see,” he says, and leaves Sherri standing in the entryway to go to Gilmore’s side.

Gilmore is sitting in his living room looking like all the life has been drained from him, and Jarett almost immediately wants to find Vax’ildan and punch him. He’s already punched one member of Vox Machina this morning; what’s one more? It’s not as if they don’t deserve it. “What did he say?” he asks.

Gilmore’s head jerks up, and he says, “Jarett!” Then he shakes off his surprise, and says, “Nothing. It’s alright. Did you need something?”

“No, I don’t need anything. It seems, however, that  _ you _ need something. What did he  _ say _ , Shaun?”

Gilmore stares up at him, startled by Jarett’s strident tone, and then his expression softens. “Only things I already knew.”

Jarett scowls. “He’s unfair to you.”

“Even he acknowledges that,” Gilmore says. “And I know it, too. But he said something else, too, that perhaps… I hadn’t given enough thought to.”

“Oh?”

Gilmore stands, and is suddenly close, in Jarett’s space. He’s still rumpled from sleep and warm, soft around the edges, and Jarett can’t help reaching out to place a hand on his elbow.

“He said that the man I end up with will be a lucky one.”

“That much you must have already know,” Jarett says, his voice low. “You are… Yes, he will be a lucky man indeed, to be chosen by you.”

“I think that those words, from his lips, were what finally made me believe that I do deserve better - better than the treatment he has given me, in any case,” Gilmore says. “But also, when he said that, someone came to my mind. And I hadn’t realized, but… it felt right. It felt good. I’ve known for a long time that Vax and I were never meant to be, but now I have come to realize that there  _ is _ someone out there with whom I fit. Someone whom I have come to care for, who is and has been a true companion to me. And I was not sure, upon realizing, that I could have him, or that he would have me; now I  _ am _ sure.”

Jarett swallows, and lets his hand fall from Gilmore’s arm. “I’m glad for you,” he says, and then has to clear his throat; his voice has emerged ragged and harsh.

Gilmore smiles. “Oh, my captain,” he says, and then he leans up and presses a soft kiss to Jarett’s lips. Just a small thing, chaste, brief, and then he pulls away only far enough to whisper, “You are the luckiest man I know.”

Jarett nearly chokes on the swell of emotion, but holds it back, channels it into a certainty which he uses to bend and kiss Gilmore - to kiss  _ Shaun _ \- properly, their mouths pressing together, his arms around Shaun’s waist. “Gods,” he says, when they finally break away. “I…” He has no words. There  _ are _ no words for the relief, the elation, the pure joy that he feels.

“I know,” Shaun says, and leans against Jarett, pressing his face into his shoulder. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are welcome as always!


End file.
